In the 1990s, American theatre — especially in New York and London — there was a recognizable figure: the “bad boy.”  The label was applied loosely, sometimes admiringly, sometimes defensively, to playwrights whose work seemed abrasive, transgressive and defiantly uninterested in good manners.  Their plays were violent, sexually explicit, morally murky and often very funny in a way that made audiences uneasy about laughing. [more]

When theatre historians use a phrase like “the night that changed American theatre,” they are usually pointing to March 31, 1943, the opening night of the musical Oklahoma! at the St. James Theatre. The show was written by Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein II, and directed by Rouben Mamoulian. Choreography came from Agnes de Mille.

Just two actors, no escape hatch, nowhere to hide.  It’s theatrical bare-knuckle boxing. Let’s talk about the rhythm — because that’s what makes or breaks it. {more]

One room.  High stakes.  Language as a weapon.  People trying not to crack.  I love it. The crime is plot. The moral dilemma is drama. Ask yourself: Is justice the same as truth? Does intention matter more than outcome? Can a good person commit an unforgivable act? Is the system fair — or just efficient?

Science fiction on stage is one of those “this shouldn’t work … and yet it absolutely slaps” situations.  Theater can’t compete with CGI, so it leans into ideas, language and imagination — and that’s where sci-fi thrives. [more]

Writing a farce is basically engineering a beautiful disaster. Precision + stupidity + escalating panic. It’s math wearing clown shoes. Here’s how it actually works. [more]

A comic play works best when it treats humor as a tool, not the point. You’re building a dramatic engine that happens to make people laugh. [more]

The presence or absence of the supernatural in theatre has long been a way for playwrights to test the limits of belief — both the characters’ and the audience’s — while shaping how meaning is produced onstage. When the supernatural is explicit, theatre often uses it to externalize inner states or moral forces. Greek tragedy stages gods and oracles to frame human action within cosmic order (or punishment). [more]

Environmental theatre is a style of performance where the whole space becomes the stage — and the audience is placed inside the world of the play rather than watching it from a separate “front.” [more]

Musicals can do a bunch of things more easily than straight plays — not because they’re “higher art,” but because they have extra gears: music, rhythm and often choreography. But before we get started, what are your favorite musicals, and why? [more]

Realism — life-as-lived, subtext, ordinary rooms. Spot it: overlapping dialogue, small stakes that add up, behavior > speeches. [more]

A tragedy asks a moral or human question that cannot be answered cleanly. Examples: What does it cost to be right? What must be destroyed for love to survive? When is faith indistinguishable from delusion? If the question has an easy answer, it won’t sustain tragedy. [more]

Story Theatre sits somewhere between oral storytelling, ensemble theatre and playwriting. You’re not “writing scenes” in the traditional way so much as composing an event where narration and enactment constantly trade places. [more]

Theatre genres overlap and evolve, but they’re usually grouped by tone, structure, purpose and relationship to reality. For example, tragedy is serious drama in which characters confront irreversible consequences. (more)

History is the circumstance, not the subject.  A strong historical play isn’t about an era.  It’s about the people trapped inside it.  The past supplies constraints: laws, beliefs, class, danger and the drama comes from characters pushing against those limits.  If the story still works when summarized without dates, you’re on the right track. (more)